Eve of Destruction
by Swimming320
Summary: "It was then that the dam broke, and shrieks of laughter fell from the German's lips as he fell upon Ivan." Prussia initiates Operation Barbarossa against his former love. (Some Mentioned PrusRus)


Author's Note: This is an indulgence. Just my take on Barbarossa, cause I can't seem to write about anything but the Eastern front of World War II. I hope you enjoy, constructive criticism is appreciated, and I do not own Hetalia.

Prussia tapped his foot in irritation, pulling out his wristwatch yet again, to squint and make out the time on the illuminated dial. 3:10 AM. He nodded, allowing a small smirk to break through his tight lips. Everything was going according to plan.

Sticking to that theme, his invitee hurried around the corner of the boulder. They were far enough away from the German front lines, that Ivan wouldn't be able to see them. It had been quite a hike, but surprise was crucial for this.

Gilbert forced a smile onto his face as his lover hurried towards him, scarf billowing in the wind.

Ivan's face held a trace of worry as he spoke: "Gilbert, what is wrong? I got your message through the Kremlin and came as fast as possible. Is this about Estonia and Latvia? I meant to tell you about the annexations, I really did, but-"

Gilbert merely gave that damned fake smile again (oh, how he deplored the act), opening his arms up, beckoning the Russian in for a hug. Glancing at his watch, he smiled, really broadly grinned as Ivan came towards him, arms also outstretched.

Their arms met.

The clock struck 3:15.

4 million Axis troops charged across the Russian border.

And Gilbert freed that smile into a snarl as he brought his arm back, sending a vicious blow to Russia's stomach.

Ivan doubled over as a immense tsunami of pain rolled over his large frame. Pain from the bombers, from the German troops already opening fire on his men, from Prussia's betrayal. His vision grew hazy, only seeing in flashes Gilbert striding over to him, and feeling the impact of the boot to his side.

Clutching his chest, Ivan partially straightened up, as pure pain assaulted his body, only managing to choke out a strangled "Why?" before letting out a hiss of discomfort.

Gilbert actually let out a small laugh as he walked over to the Russian. Gott, he felt stronger than ever. Truly, Germany was the UbërNation. Grasping the Russian's shirt, he straightened his enemy up to face him.

"Why? Now that is an interesting question, Ivan."

Prussia's fist smashed against Russia's cheekbone. He savored the warmth of the liquid on his hand.

"Simply put, because you were in the way."

With that, Prussia unleashed a rain of blows upon Russia. Ivan feebly put his hands up in an attempt to protect himself from the onslaught of the cackling German. Backing away, Ivan felt some strength return as he spat up blood.

"But what of the Molotov-Ribbontrop Pact? What about US, what we had, Gilbert?!"

This stopped the laughter instantly. When Ivan looked up, he was greeted by the most intense look of hatred he had seen from a nation. Gilbert bared his teeth, growling under his breath, before sprinting across the meadow, under the sky illuminated by flashes of artillery, his hands reaching for the throat of Russia.

Ivan tried to raise his fists in defense, but yet another of the endless waves of pain crashed upon him as Prussia's hand grasped his neck. The German slammed the Russian nation against the boulder with enough force to produce a large CRACK from the stone.

Ignoring the hands clawing at his own, the Prussian spoke in a low, furious tone. "What we HAD, is nothing, Russian. It doesn't matter. All that matters, all that is real right now, is what my brother and I accomplish. We ARE going to rule for a thousand years, and you were never part of the plan."

He threw Ivan to the ground, advancing on the crawling Russian.

"We are truly different, Bolshevik. Ideologies do not mix well, and we will crush you. Why?"

Gilbert landed a swift kick to Russia. Both heard the crack of bone breaking under the steel-toed boot, and Prussia gave a cruel chuckle.

"Because I'm stronger than you."

Gilbert grabbed the scarf and hauled Ivan to his feet, before smashing his fist into the Russian's face.

"I'm better than you."

The chuckle had grown into an unsteady laugh at this point, bubbling incoherently out of Prussia's mouth. He stared at the bloodied nation before him, hearing the rumble of the panzers, the thuds of the Stukas, the superiority of his people, of himself.

"And I don't fucking need you."

It was then that the dam broke, and shrieks of laughter fell from the German's lips as he fell upon the enemy, who he used to care for, pounding away at Russia with fist after fist. All the savage fury unleashed as Prussia vented all his anger, his rage upon Russia. For the past 10 years, for all the time wasted when he should have been building up arms with Ludwig, for the anger; at Ivan, at the world, at himself.

Letting out a deep breath, Prussia ceased his attack, calming himself somewhat as he backed away. Kicking at the Russian, Gilbert turned before drawing his luger and emptying 5 shots into Ivan, relishing each squeeze of the trigger.

The impact of the bullets and the subsequent white-hot pain, drive adrenaline through the Russian's veins. His country's very existence was threatened. He stumbled to his feet. Getting his bearings as dodged another attack from the fascist, his head spinning as he turned and ran, as fast as his long legs could carry him. Back to Moscow, to Stalin, to his country that was under attack.

Gilbert calmly stared after the departing nation, whose blood-soaked scarf soon disappeared from view. Let the coward run.

"Run, Communist! I look forward to slitting your throat at the gates of Moscow!"

Feeling very cheerful, Gilbert whistled as he strolled towards the approaching Panzer battalion, the crimson madness reflected in his eyes matched only by the crimson staining his hands. Wiping them anxiously, he climbed aboard his Panzer IV, and proceeded with the plan.


End file.
